Page 8 of Stolen Moments

Her cheeks flame even redder at the gesture. She stands and takes his now unoccupied seat. I watch her fan her face and mouthwowas Mason takes the seat next to me.

He places his warm hand on my thigh and leans into me, lips to my ear. “Play along, Emery.”

His hot breath fans across my lobe, making my nipples pucker. I turn my head to his as I nod in agreement and stare at the golden streaks that break through his green eyes like lightning, our lips a hair’s breadth away from each other. He’s so close he could kiss me.

Invisible sparks crackle between us.

He lifts his hand, cupping my cheek as he runs his thumb under the line of my lower lip, careful not to smudge the red stain covering my mouth. From afar, it looks like he’s leaning in to kiss me, even though he’s not. But the act is so much more intimate than if he were to press his lips to mine.

I close my eyes as lust pools in my lower belly. For some crazy reason, I want him to do it.

Kiss me,my traitorous head whispers.

He drops his hand from my face, leaning back in his seat and taking his heat with him, leaving me wanting. My lashes flutter open to find him watching me, eyes stormy dark and lust-filled. His hand remains on my thigh, close to my knee, keeping up the charade and a respectable distance from the part of me that’s dying for his touch. I’m at a loss for words.

What the hell is happening right now?

I shake away the spell he’s put me under and try to lighten the mood. “So,boyfriend,now what?”

A coy smile takes over his face at my use of the word “boyfriend”. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he liked me calling him that.

That’s absurd, right?

Aside from his first name and that he knows who Geralt of Rivia is, I know nothing about this man.

He lowers his voice, accentuating the gravel in it. “Now? Now, we get to know each other.”

“How do you expect to do that when your friend, Sharon, could hear everything we say?” I whisper back conspiratorially.

“Good point.”

He reaches down between his legs and pulls out a sleek laptop from his bag. It looks like the newest model available. He places the obviously expensive equipment on the tray table and turns it on. I watch his fingers fly across the keyboard as he enters an incredibly long password from memory and opens a Word document.

I don’t think he’s a professor.

Before I can think too hard about his job or ask, Mason turns the screen to face me so I can see what he’s typed.

Does this work for you?

I chuckle at his cheekiness. “It does.”

I aim to please, Emery.

I roll my eyes at him and type.

Such a charmer.

Not usually. But for you … I’m trying.

I look at him, trying to figure out if this is some kind of line. He ishot as hell, and he could easily be playing with me. He watches me watch him for a minute, letting me figure it out. My gut tells me he’s not a player at all. In fact, I’d probably say the opposite.

His fingers fly across the keys again.

Do you believe me?

“I believe you.”

Good. Now tell me why you’re going to Los Angeles. It’s not for a guy, is it?

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